Scruff

by Robert Ludlum

  “No. As a matter of fact, they have.”

  “And six haven’t?”

  “That’s right.”

  Andrew removed the first two pages and placed them on the coffee table. He took the last page and carefully folded it, then proceeded to tear the fold in half. He held out the torn paper for Bonner. The Major reluctantly approached and took it. “Your first job, Major, is to deliver this back to whoever gave it to you. I’ll hire my own staff. Get those pretty little checks inked in for those other six people.”

  Bonner started to speak and then hesitated as Trevayne picked up the pages from the coffee table and sat down on the couch. Finally Bonner took a long breath and addressed the civilian.

  “Look, Mr. Trevayne, nobody cares who you hire, but they’ve got to submit to security checks. This substitution list just makes it easier, quicker.”

  “I’ll bet it does,” mumbled Trevayne, marking off addresses on the office sheet. “I’ll try not to employ anyone in the pay of the Presidium.… This suite at the Potomac Towers; isn’t that an apartment building?”

  “Yes. Government lease has fourteen months to run. It was rented last year for an engineering project, and then the funds were cut.… It’s out of the way, though. It might be inconvenient.”

  “What would you suggest?”

  “Someplace nearer Nebraska or New York Avenue. You’ll probably be seeing a lot of people.”

  “I’ll pay for the taxis.”

  “I hadn’t thought of it that way. I just assumed they’d be calling on you.”

  “Very good, Major.” Trevayne rose from the chair and looked at the officer. “There’re five places I’ve checked off. Look them over and tell me what you think.” He crossed to Bonner and handed him the page. “I’ve some phone calls to make; I’ll use the bedroom. Then we’ll get going. Have some more coffee.”

  Trevayne went into the bedroom and closed the door. There was no sense in waiting any longer to call Madison. He’d have no place to make the call other than a government office or a pay phone. It was quarter to eleven; Madison should be routined and calm by now.

  “Andy, I’m still shook up,” said the attorney, sounding very much relaxed. “It’s simply terrible.”

  “I think I should tell you the rest. That’s pretty terrible, too.”

  He did, and Walter Madison was, as Trevayne expected, stunned.

  “Did Gillette give you any indication that he’d spoken to the others?”

  “No. I gathered he hadn’t. He said he was going to call a reopening in the morning.”

  “He might have gotten too much resistance for that.… Andy, do you think the accident was anything else?”

  “I keep wondering, but I can’t come up with a reason that makes sense. If it wasn’t an accident and he was killed because he was going to reopen the hearing—that means they, whoever they are, if they are, want me to chair the subcommittee. I can understand someone wanting me out; I can’t understand anyone wanting to make sure I’m in.”

  “And I can’t buy the theory that these extremes would be used. Money, persuasion, even outright influence; that’s possible. Certainly not killing. As I gathered from the reports, that isn’t feasible anyway. His car couldn’t have gone into the water; the rail was too high. It couldn’t have been forced into a roll; it simply slid sideways and threw the old man into the frame.… It was an accident, Andy. Simply terrible, but an accident.”

  “I think it has to be.”

  “Have you spoken to anyone about this?”

  Trevayne was about to tell Madison the truth, that he’d been in touch with Webster at the White House.

  Instead, he hesitated. Not for any reason related to Walter’s confidence, only because he felt an obligation to the President. To mention Webster would mean involving the President of the United States—the office, if not the man.

  “No. No, I haven’t. Just to Phyllis, that’s all.”

  “We may want to change that, but for the time being, telling me is sufficient. I’ll phone around and let you know.”

  “Who are you going to call?”

  For several seconds Walter Madison said nothing, and both men recognized the awkwardness of the moment. “I don’t know yet. I haven’t had time to think. Perhaps a couple of the men at the hearing, the ones I met. Easy enough to do; I’m solicitous, my client wants to know if he should make a statement. Anything.… I’ll get the drift.”

  “Right. You’ll call me back?”

  “Of course.”

  “Make it late in the day. I’ve got my own major from the Defense Department. He’s going to help me set up shop.”

  “Christ! They don’t waste a minute. What’s his name?”

  “Bonner. First name, Paul, I think he said.”

  Madison laughed. It was a laugh of recognition, and not entirely pleasant. “Paul Bonner? They’re not very subtle, are they?”

  “I don’t understand. What’s so funny?”

  “Bonner’s one of the Pentagon’s Young Turks. The original bad boy of Southeast Asia. Remember a few years ago? A half-dozen or so officers got thrown out of Indochina for some highly questionable activities beyond the borders, behind the lines?”

  “Yes, I do. The inquiry was squashed.”

  “You know it. It was too damned hot. This Bonner was in command.”

  11

  By two o’clock Trevayne and Bonner had scouted three of the five office suites. The Army liaison tried to maintain a neutral attitude, but he was too candid. Trevayne realized that in several ways Bonner was like himself; at close range, it was difficult for the officer to disguise his opinion.

  It was obvious that Bonner felt all the locations they’d seen were satisfactory. He couldn’t understand why Trevayne insisted on visiting the last two, both quite far from the central city. Why not pick one of the others?

  Trevayne, on the other hand, had seen the first three out of courtesy, so it wouldn’t appear that he was subject to snap decisions. Bonner had allowed that the offices at the Potomac Towers did look out on the river; Trevayne had suspected as much, and that fact, in itself, was enough to convince him.

  His offices would be at the Potomac Towers.

  But he would find other reasons than the river, the water. He wouldn’t give Major Paul Bonner, the Young Turk of the Pentagon, the opportunity of saying that his V.I.P. had a thing about water. He wouldn’t lend himself to the ridicule that might so easily come from the blunt observations of a man whose actions had frightened the Department of the Army a few short years ago.

  “There’s nothing against our taking a lunch break, is there, Major?”

  “Christ, no. I’ll get my ass chewed if it doesn’t appear on my chit sheet. As a matter of fact, I’ll get reamed anyway for letting you make this tour. Frankly, I thought you’d have someone else do it for you.”

  “Who, for instance.”

  “Hell, I don’t know. Don’t you people always have other people do these things? Get offices and stuff like that?”

  “Sometimes. But not if it’s a concentrated job that’s going to require a lot of time on the premises.”

  “I forgot. You’re a self-made millionaire, according to the reading material.”

  “Only because it was easier, Major.”

  They went to the Chesapeake House, and Trevayne was at first amused, then amazed, at Bonner’s alcoholic capacity. The Major ordered double bourbons—three before lunch, two during, and one after. And they were generous singles to begin with.

  Yet Bonner did not display the slightest indication of having had a drink.

  Over coffee, Trevayne thought he’d try a more friendly approach than he’d shown throughout the morning.

  “You know, Bonner, I haven’t said it, but I do appreciate your taking on a thankless chore. I can see why you resent it.”

  “I don’t mind, really. Not now. Actually, I pictured you as some kind of computerized … prick, if you’ll forgive the expression. You know, a mincing sli
de-rule type who made his bread and thinks everyone else is worthless.”

  “Did the ‘reading material’ indicate that?”

  “Yeah. I think it did. Remind me to show it to you in a couple of months.… If we’re still speaking.” Bonner laughed and drank the remainder of his bourbon. “It’s crazy, but they didn’t have any photographs of you. They never do with civilians, except in security cases. Isn’t that nuts? In the field I’d never look at a file unless there were at least three or four photographs. Not just one; I’d never accept just one.”

  Trevayne thought for a moment. The major was right. One photograph was meaningless for a dozen reasons. Several were not.

  “I read about your … field activity. You made a large impression.”

  “That’s off-limits, I’m afraid. I won’t talk about that, which means I’m not supposed to admit I was ever west of San Diego.”

  “Which strikes me as silly.”

  “Me, too.… So I’ve got a couple of programmed statements which don’t mean a damn thing. Why bring them up?”

  Trevayne looked at Bonner and saw that he was sincere. He didn’t want to restate the programmed replies he’d been fed; yet there seemed to be something else he was perfectly willing to discuss. Andrew wasn’t sure, but it was worth a try.

  “I’d like a brandy. How about you?”

  “Stick to bourbon.”

  “A double?”

  “That’s right.”

  The drinks came and were half-finished before Trevayne’s observation proved out.

  “What’s this subcommittee all about, Mr. Trevayne? Why is everyone so uptight?”

  “You said it this morning, Major. Defense is spending ‘zillions’ more than it should.”

  “I understand that; nobody would argue. But why are we the heavies right off the top? There are thousands involved. Why are we singled out as the prime targets?”

  “Because you issue contracts. Simple as that.”

  “We issue contracts that congressional committees approve.”

  “I don’t want to generalize, but it seems to me that Congress usually approves one figure and then is forced to approve another—the second being a lot higher than the first.”

  “We’re not responsible for the economy.”

  Trevayne lifted his half-empty brandy glass and revolved it. “Would you accept that kind of reasoning in the field, Major? I’m sure you’d accept the fact that your intelligence teams had a margin for error, but would you tolerate a hundred-percent inaccuracy?”

  “It’s not the same.”

  “They’re both information, aren’t they?”

  “I refuse to equate lives with money.”

  “I find that argument specious; you had no such consideration when your ‘field activity’ cost a great many lives.”

  “Horseshit! That was a statistical-combat situation.”

  “Double horseshit. There were an awful lot of people who thought the situation was totally uncalled for.”

  “Then why the hell didn’t they do something about it? Don’t cry now.”

  “As I recall, they tried,” said Trevayne, staring at his glass.

  “And failed. Because they didn’t read their problem correctly. Their strategy was very un-pro.”

  “That’s an interesting statement, Major.… Provocative, too.”

  “Look, I happen to think that particular war was necessary for all the reasons brighter men than me have stated time and again. I can also understand how a lot of those reasons could be rejected, traded off because of the price. That’s what those people didn’t concentrate on. They didn’t emphasize it.”

  “You fascinate me.” Trevayne finished his brandy. “How could … those people have done that?”

  “Visual-tactical maneuvers. I could even break down the logistics of cost and geography.”

  “Please do,” said Trevayne, returning the Major’s smile.

  “The visual: fifteen thousand coffins in three units of five thousand each. The real things—government issue, pine construction. Cost, two hundred dollars per item on bulk purchase. Geography: New York, Chicago, Los Angeles—Fifth Avenue, Michigan Avenue, Sunset Boulevard. Tactic: placing the coffins laterally at one-foot spacings, with every hundredth casket open and displaying a corpse. Mutilated, if possible. Personnel requirements: two men per coffin, with a side task force of one thousand per city employed to distract police or to prevent interference. Total troop requirements: thirty-three thousand … and a hundred and fifty corpses.… Three cities completely inmobilized. Two miles of corpses, real and symbolic, blocking major thoroughfares. Total impact. Revulsion.”

  “That’s incredible. And you think it would have worked?”

  “Have you ever seen civilians standing around on a street corner watching a hearse go by? It’s the ultimate identification.… What I just described would have turned the stomachs of eight to ten million people on the scenes, and another hundred million through the media. A mass burial rite.”

  “It couldn’t have been done. It would have been prevented. There’s the police, national guard …”

  “Logistics, again, Mr. Trevayne. Diversionary tactics; surprise, silence. The quiet grouping of personnel and equipment, say, on a Sunday morning or early Monday—minimum-police-activity hours. The execution of the maneuver so precisely timed that it could be accomplished in less than forty-five minutes in each city.… Only thirty-odd thousand men—women, too, probably. You had damn near a half-million in the Washington march alone.”

  “It’s chilling.” Trevayne was not smiling; he also was aware that Bonner had used the word “you” for the first time. Trevayne’s position had been clear on Indochina, and the soldier wanted him to know he knew it.

  “That’s the point.”

  “Not only the maneuver, but that you could conceive of it.”

  “I’m a professional soldier. It’s my job to conceive strategies. And once having conceived them, also to create countermeasures.”

  “You’ve created one for this?”

  “Definitely. It’s not very pleasant, but unavoidable. It’s reduced to swift retaliation; immediate and complete suppression. Confrontation by force and superior weaponry so as to establish military supremacy. Suspension of all news media. Replace one idea with another. Fast.”

  “And spill a considerable amount of blood.”

  “Unavoidable.” Bonner looked up and grinned. “It’s only a game, Mr. Trevayne.”

  “I’d rather not play.”

  Bonner looked at his watch. “Gosh! It’s almost four o’clock. We’d better check out those last two addresses, or they’ll be locked up.”

  Trevayne got out of his chair just a little bit numbed. Major Paul Bonner had spent the last few minutes telling him something. Spelling out the harsh reality that Washington was inhabited by many Paul Bonners. Men who were committed—rightfully, justifiably, by their lights—to the promulgation of their authority and influence. Professional soldiers who were capable of outthinking their opponents because they were equally capable of thinking for them. Generous, too; tolerant of the hazy, muddled thinking of their soft civilian counterparts. Secure in the knowledge that in this era of potential holocaust there was no room for the indecisive or undecided. The protection of the nation was directly related to the enormity and effectiveness of its strike force. For such men as Bonner it was inconceivable that any should stand in the way of this goal. That they could not tolerate.

  And it seemed incongruous that Major Bonner could say so ingenuously: Gosh! It’s almost four o’clock. And not a little frightening.

  The Potomac Towers provided its own reason for being selected, unrelated to the view of the river. Bonner accepted it. The other suites all had the normal five offices and a waiting room; the Towers included an additional kitchenette and a study. The latter was designed for quiet reading or conferences, even overnight accommodations by way of a huge leather couch in the main office. The Potomac Towers had been leased for
an engineering crash program and outfitted to accommodate the pressurized schedule. It was ideal for Trevayne’s purposes, and Bonner made the requisition, relieved that the tour was finished.

  The two men returned to Trevayne’s hotel.

  “Would you care to come up for a drink?” asked Trevayne, getting out of the Army vehicle with the insignia on both doors that allowed for parking just about anywhere.

  “Thanks, but I’d better report in. There are probably a dozen generals walking in and out of the men’s room, watching my office, waiting for me.” Bonner’s face lit up, his eyes smiling; he was pleased with the image he’d just created. Trevayne understood. The Young Turk enjoyed the position he was in—a position undoubtedly assigned for reasons Bonner didn’t like, and now, perhaps, could be turned on his superiors.

  Trevayne wondered what those reasons were.

  “Well, have fun. Ten in the morning?”

  “Right on. I’ll alert security; that list of yours will be cleared. If there are any real problems, I’ll call you myself. You’ll want others, though. I’ll set up interviews.”

  Bonner looked at Andrew and laughed. “Your interviews, massa.”

  “Fine. And thanks.” Trevayne watched the Army car start up and enter the congested flow of Washington’s five-thirty traffic.

  The hotel desk informed Trevayne that Mrs. Trevayne had picked up their messages at precisely five-ten. The elevator operator tipped three fingers to his visor and said, “Good evening,” addressing him by name. The first guard, seated in a chair by the row of elevators on the ninth floor, smiled; the second guard, standing in the corridor several yards from his door, nodded his head in recognition. Trevayne had the feeling that he’d just passed through a hall of mirrors, his image reflected a thousandfold, but not necessarily for him. For the benefit of others.

  “Hello, Phyl?” Trevayne closed the door and heard his wife speaking on the telephone in the bedroom.

  “Be with you in a sec,” she called out.

  He took off his jacket, unloosened his tie, and went to the bar, where he poured himself a glass of ice water. Phyllis came out of the bedroom, and Trevayne saw a trace of concern in her eyes, beyond the smile.